


you're part of a machine (you are not a human being)

by dankobah



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emperor Kylo Ren, Empress Rey, F/M, he leaves the mask on, rey likes it, written for the author more than the public
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 09:55:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19885708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dankobah/pseuds/dankobah
Summary: An empress whispers, “Leave it on.”In a cloud of red tulle and pins pushing on the back of her head, she lays back on the bed to stare at the ceiling and hear the clinking of her husband disrobing.  She isn't hearing the hiss or pop of the mask coming off, of something so formidable leaving his face.They’ve had a long day of schmoozing, their least favorite thing that their positions contain.  An emperor and empress so young, full of a new life for the galaxy at hand. A New Order is their domain, their reign knowing no bounds.  The voice modulator crackles to life, “Leave what.”Rey doesn’t bother to get up, even look at him.“The mask.”





	you're part of a machine (you are not a human being)

**Author's Note:**

> tags:  
> SLIGHT DUBCON (rey is a little wine drunk, but still very coherent in her choices)  
> rough sex

An empress whispers, “Leave it on.”

In a cloud of red tulle and pins pushing on the back of her head, she lays back on the bed to stare at the ceiling and hear the clinking of her husband disrobing. She isn't hearing the hiss or pop of the mask coming off, of something so formidable leaving his face. 

They’ve had a long day of schmoozing, their least favorite thing that their positions contain. An emperor and empress so young, full of a new life for the galaxy at hand. A New Order is their domain, their reign knowing no bounds. The voice modulator crackles to life, “Leave what.”

Rey doesn’t bother to get up, even look at him. “The mask.”

It's not an odd request considering their sexuality, unrivaled and animalistic since the floor of the throne room and how he buried inside of her in front of his dead master to cement her as his. In exchange for her, he acted as if he wasn’t aware of the fleet they were going to bomb ever existed. 

That's how they've gotten themselves into this mess of rulership and politics. Politics have never been Rey's strong suit, leaving Kylo to it and leveling him out when the temptation to ruin everything before them became too much. Kylo rules emotionally, whereas Rey tries to bring fairness. He repays her patience in sparring alongside her, showing her new avenues of the force that she couldn't dream of.

Sex was something that had been seen as a bargaining chip on Jakku, a way to receive more portions. Sex with Kylo is trust, an unbreakable bond that leaves her dizzy and a bit lovesick. He’s more affectionate and attentive at night, hard expressions and politics saturating his head during the days and during these little trysts with other officers that leave them both exhausted. He’s frequently unfocused on her when the good of the entire galaxy stands before him; it is a perfect opportunity to drill around in the recesses of his head. Knowing her husband inside and out isn’t a bad idea. How could it be?

Many bow before him, whereas he drops for her.

This event is no exception to the rule. “The mask.”

“Yes, leave it on.”

She’s put her head inside of it once, during pillow talk when he kept it by his bedside. He remains uncomfortable with anyone but her seeing his face now, a formidable emperor with a wobbly lip when things go wrong. No one took that seriously. Everyone took the helmet seriously, a predator’s idea with heat sensors and readings like an encyclopedia. It’s his by design, so Ben Solo she can hardly breathe. That's a name only reserved for her, hers to cry out when he hits deep and makes her howl and shake. 

Even more threatening is the little red lines that signify past destruction, a shattering in an elevator after his master made him feel so small. Ben Solo is not small any longer.

He’s big, a large man that pops into her view with the glossy black eyes, deep and unfeeling as his head then cocks. She can see her reflection, watch how the Alderaanian crown braid on top of her head threatens to come loose and the flush on her cheeks from all the wine she’s drunk. She’s still manageable as a lady, even in a tight corset of a ball gown and laying on top of a crimson lined cape like his. Her breasts look like they exist, chest heaving up and a smile is spreading across her face.

This is how he sees her.

He can’t scare her, even with the helmet on. “Fuck me, emperor.” 

He’s down to his pants, high on his waist. His sleeves, cape, and tunic are abandoned to the floor to remain until the next morning when he’s dragging her up to spar. Even then, he's sans helmet. 

The silence is deafening, and she briefly frowns. That’s when he strikes, hands flashing out to grab the bodice of her dress and pulling on the side seam. She was stitched into the piece by a droid, not a simple slip-on or standard zipper. It’s a complicated and tight little thing, boning and all. He rips through it as if it were paper. 

She can’t help but giggle, fingers lunging out to caress along his biceps and hearing his voice modulator click on and off with each breath. He’s trying hard not to reveal his overwhelming desire for her, how she moons up at him through painted lashes and continue to blush through wine-drunk cheeks. Her face is hot, her body stirs, and he pulls the dress off of her quickly. She reaches behind her back for her breast band, but he forces her hands away and tugs that off also, leaving her only in the thin thong that goes under skirts so smoothly.

She’s as naked as he wants her, arousal present on how he rubs the front of his pants where his hard length presses against the fabric. “Let me please you, Emperor-” She tries to rise onto her knees, but the force clasps around her throat and forces her back down against the sheets so hard that her back arches. 

She trusts him, especially as the sensation presses down for a brief moment before wisping away. A warning. His voice is cold, unfeeling, “That won’t be necessary, schutta.”

She’s heard the word before, in cantinas where she refuses to cover her eyes and Twi’leks grind on patrons for a credit or two to grab a morsel of food to eat. Anything to survive, something she’s been privy to while growing up in a desert that kicked sand into her precious hazel eyes and told her that whoever left her there was never coming home.

She rather likes the word, especially given her status as royalty as of late. Of course, any wayward Resistance member could take that away, but she and her lover sit pretty on top of the food chain as force users. Not Jedi and Sith; a breed of their own that scares the common man into giving them whatever they want. Sometimes it does require force, like choking across a negotiation table to show who’s boss.

They’re winning if you could win a never-ending war like this. She refuses to lose someone she loves so dearly, even as he pulls the thong off with little regard for the fabric to stare at her sex. She sees it how he sees it, flushed red from the heat sensors and shiny wet. She’s been like this all night, ever since the alcohol hit her system and she watched her husband laze around the dinner like a fucking king. 

“Can I make a request?”

He refocuses on her, rather than on her body. Her hair begins to untangle from the braids, his doing without even a touch. The waves surround her head like a halo, making her look like a goddess in a secret cave only a few have seen. He is worthy of her, rather than the other way around.

“Can you wear gloves too?”

Is she too picky?

Hardly, given that he bends down and picks up the leather gloves that she’s grown accustomed to caressing her waist or along her cheeks in moments in front of the public. Two lovers are giving a show to all eyes that follow, displaying how much they love each other and how quickly they’d die for one another. Kylo Ren only softens for her. The little desert rat inside loosens up for him, crawls from her At-At to roll on her back and accept much-needed love and affection. They know each other inside and out, so well that it scares some people and throws off others. 

They snap on his wrists and he’s a sight, bare-chested and glistening with sweat from all the heavy robes he’s taken on in empirical modesty. A Jedi Knight would rival him if they were still alive. Luke Skywalker’s location is no secret between them, but it stays hidden to the outside forces that seek to destroy. She begged to keep the man alive, despite Kylo’s bloodthirst and need for revenge on the man that had turned him so long ago.

She had held him off, and Hux did not know. 

“Your head is full tonight.”

Is she overthinking too much for his liking? Too bad, her brain hops into overdrive when she’s wanton. His judgment is felt instead of seen, and she swallows down. 

“Relax, my love.”

Too honeyed for her liking. She twists up in determination and rebels again, kicking her legs to get up and his hands shove her back down. His body engulfs hers, eclipsing her own lithe and lean muscular figure with his burly and thicker sinew. He works hard on his body, trying to look daunting to all that come across; a black shadow prepared to kill anyone who stands in its way. 

“Hurt me.”

She pleads, and he delivers with a crack of his palm across her cheek. Her head whips to the side as he does, jaw rolling to take the blow. He’s always so sweet and delicate to her, even during intense sparring where she screams and shoves him like he’s only a battle holo. Rey is feral in her fighting style, much like he rips men in two if he wants. A beast stares back and she sets her face in determination to take his hand wrapping around her throat and squeezing. It only takes one hand to do so.

“You little fucking whore. You want a monster so bad.”

He crushes and she clutches his wrist until she’s sure enough to bruise.

“I’ll show you a monster.”

He forces her legs apart with his knee and his breath comes through as ragged over the modulator. He’s hasty, hand leaving her throat and the silver inlay around his eyes glints in the harsh blue-tinged and artificial light. “Turn off the lights.” It’s better in the dark, where his force signature becomes ever more present. It sounds like a purring lothcat, ready for dinner.

“No. You get to see all of me.” The mask is her request; she understands now. There’s no backing down with him and her stomach flutters as he caresses his cock.

“Your rule alongside me hasn’t gone unnoticed. Your beauty hasn’t either.”

His fingers run along either side of her folds, rubbing up and down to entice and spur on more wetness. Another finger twists and lands on her clit, pushing beneath the hood and pushing circles into the sensitive bud. 

“Men stare at you like meat. I want to kill all of them.” Her breath hitches as his finger circles around her hole before pushing in and pulling his finger nearly out. She’s wet and pliable. “I’m taking you to Naboo tomorrow. I need you to myself before I even continue to rule a pack of dogs.” Sith troopers have been a problem of late, something taking up his time and making him more than angry.

They frankly scare her. He’s bitter as he makes a “come here” motion before shoving another finger inside. “How does that sound?”

“Perfect.” Her answer is breathy and she barely thinks about what she agrees to in this case. 

He’s meaner with his ministrations, ripping the cape out from under her and tossing it away so she’s on top of the brain worm sheets. Luxe like everything else that surrounds them, it feels cold on her back and her fingers knot in the top sheet as she writhes beneath him. “Look at me.” She does, and she swears she can see the boy beneath the mask, so needy for her. The visual floats away as he pulls his fingers from her and begins to unlace his pants to heave his cock from its confines. He doesn’t even bother removing them, but he does hold his fingers up to her mouth.

“Taste yourself. See how wet you are.” Her tongue flicks over his fingers and she tastes the sweet and sour tang of her arousal. “If I weren’t wearing this mask, I would bury my face in your cunt until you screamed.” He pushes the hood of his foreskin back to rub along his slit, precum hitting the tip of his thumb and collecting on the leather. It smears as he keeps pushing, head an angry red. The rest of him is long and thick, so well endowed that he chokes her every time he slams into the back of her throat. 

He's an emperor for all intents and purposes, and no one else can rival him in pleasure. Kylo lines up, being careful to lift her hips with one arm and irregular breath punctuates between them.

He pushes in and like always, it stings.

She counts to three.

One.

Her hands come up to cradle the jagged edges of the mask.

Two. 

Her fingers run over the little lines, tracing each dent.

Three. 

He begins to move, slow and testing her as she lifts her head to kiss around the silver inlay that loops around his eyes. There are cracks in the face too, and she nuzzles each one as if it’s a safety blanket or his face. “My emperor.”

“My empress.” He continues to fuck, slow and deep and to hold his hips back from pounding into her with no mercy. She wishes he would ruin her, but good things come with time. Lots of time, the slow build of speed indicating as much. 

“You’ll kill whoever crosses me.”

“If you don’t kill them first, my little Jedi.” He punctuates his disdain for the notion by slamming into her cervix and she yelps, hearing him laugh mechanically. Rey holds onto his shoulders, pulling him close to her and letting his helmet tuck into her neck. It’s cold, so different than his healthy wavy hair and dragon breath.

“I’m no Jedi.”

“As I am not Sith. We are different, and we are not what they tell us.” She gasps and digs her nails into his back as he speeds up, snapping his hips up and making her feel rapture on soft sheets. It’s so contrary to the harshness of the situation, a man conquering his wife and pledging himself to please her consistently.

He builds her up, stoking the fires deep in her belly until it’s unbearable. She’s so close, sweat sticking to the sheets and yowls emitting from her throat like an animal.

“Come apart for me.”

She thought he’d never ask, whimpering as she noses against his helmet and feels him continue until he finds his groaning release. He milks his cock inside of her, using her like a rag to sop up his cum. Once he’s beginning to go soft, he pulls out.

The mask is still on and she reaches up weakly to grab either side of its face.

Her voice is hoarse, “Take it off.”

He obliges as fast as he can, the servomotors whirring and separating the mask from the helmet so he can take it off. He tosses it to the floor with a slam, managing to get up and pull her into his arms and against his chest before she can protest. His gloves are gone. She shivers, being wrapped up in his grip and rocked back and forth like a baby.

His face is beautiful, a sheen of sweat sticking his hair across his forehead, dark eyes concerned for her. His nose, straight as an arrow, nuzzles into her cheek and inhales sharply to catch her scent of sweat and lingering perfume, candied lemons and bitter florals.

“Good?”

“Perfect, Ben.”

He doesn’t flinch at the name, even though he swears its dead.

“Good. I’ll need to ice your cheek.”

“Let everyone see. I don’t need to hide it behind a mask.”

**Author's Note:**

> rip to my sanity, i love his helmet more than i should.
> 
> thoughts and feelings are welcome @ [twitter](https://twitter.com/dankobah) and [tumblr](https://dankobah.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> chapter title is inspired by ["gasoline" by halsey](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IY740Im2jUo)


End file.
